


The Way Things Used To Be

by pippen2112



Series: The Way Things Go [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Claiming, Cock Rings, Dom/sub, John Sheppard Whump, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Major Character Death: Cameron Mitchell, Sub John Sheppard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The farther away Cam gets, the harder it is to let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Things Used To Be

**Author's Note:**

> This fic/series came about because my mind likes to do horrible things to John Sheppard, and because not enough bad things have happened to him yet. While this installment isn't too horrible, future installments will get worse. Much worse.

The mark's gone when John checks himself that morning. For the past four years, he's been soothed by the sight of the unfading bruise on his shoulder blade. It stopped twinging about two months after he first stepped through the Stargate; John just chalked it up to the human body getting used to the distance and the ache of loss. But it didn't start to fade until Cam was actually gone. Crazy, how the body knows whether or not his mate's still waiting for him.

 

At the sight of his unmarred skin, John tries not to freak out. He's a soldier, dammit. He's dealt with loss before. He can handle himself. But still his hand shakes as he traces the stop where Cam had claimed him and he chokes up whatever remains of last night's dinner. Even if he's had weeks to prepare for this moment, it rips through him like a hollow point through flesh.

 

He grabs the metal ring on his collar and hangs on for dear life. It's the last piece of Cam he has. And it's the one last thing they'll take away from him.

 

"Sheppard to McKay, over," he says into his radio wearily.

 

After a minute, the radio clicks, "Jesus Sheppard, do you know what time it is?"

 

Too early for night owls like Rodney, but John just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I need a favor, Rodney."

 

Despite the earliness of the hour or Rodney's inevitable pre-caffeinated morning bitch fit, when John flips over to a private channel, Rodney is already there.

 

"You know, most people at least have a peace offering when they ask a favor before 7 AM. Like coffee. Real coffee, not the knockoff stuff Teyla keeps peddling."

 

John fights the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, forgive me for disturbing your slumber."

 

Rodney sighs. "What is it?"

 

John swallows. His hand clenches on the collar. "I'm gonna have to miss the staff meeting. Tell Carter I'll deliver my report to her office before noon."

 

"You're not sick are you? Because if you are, you should be talking to Jennifer, not me. Was something wrong with your last post-mission check? Do I need to call the infirmary?"

 

If this were any other day, John would snap at Rodney's over-reactive dom instinct. If this were any other day, he'd cut Rodney off mid-rant with a quick quip that yes, he is a sub, but he has also taken care of himself for the past forty-odd years without a dom overseeing his every little movement. But it's today, and John doesn't have the energy to deal with Rodney's patronizing.

 

"I'm fine, Rodney," he says through gritted teeth. "It's just... it's a personal matter."

 

"Oh." That seems to shut Rodney up really fast. Probably because in the four years he's known Rodney, John's used the personal card all of once. And just like last time, he's not gonna budge under Rodney's barrage. "Is it... um... is it serious?"

 

John rubs his eyes and mutters an answer. "Nothing I can't handle."

 

"That's doesn't answer the question, John."

 

His jaw clenches. "Go get your beauty sleep, Rodney. I'll see you for lunch."

 

To prevent further inquiry, John takes out the earpiece and drops it on the nightstand. He knows Rodney won't leave it alone, is incapable of leaving well enough alone. But he figure fatigue will buy him a few hours of peace. Lord knows he can't shake off the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his eyes. He's felt it building for the last weeks, waiting for it to blow on past him, all hot air and nonsense. But this feeling is less like a hurricane, more like a slowly swelling tidal wave; with each drop, he feels like his insides are gonna tear themselves apart.

 

John drops forward onto his knees. His joints protest, but he doesn't shift, or drag down a pillow, or anything. He just buries his face in the mattress until he can barely breathe. If he links his hands together behind his back, spreads his legs apart, and rolls his hip back just like Cam taught him, well, there's no one there to chastise him.

 

John closes his eyes, breathes in the cool, salty scent of Atlantis, and lets himself loose in his memories.

 

_"You still in there, Shep?" Cam says. His voice is rough after spending half an hour teasing around John's cock. John's got a special place in his heart for that voice. On the one hand, it never fails to make him quiver with want; on the other hand, it means Cam's no longer sucking his brains out through his dick._

_John lolls his head forward and pries open his eyes. The sight of Cam crouching over him--a thin line of spit stretching between Cam's lips and his cock--makes him whine and buck forward. As a bonus, the motion pushes Cam's fingers flush against his prostate. He groans just before Cam slings his forearm over John's hips and presses down with all his weigh and drags out his fingers._

_Cam grins; John's stomach flips. "I'll take that as a yes. Looks like I'll have to try harder."_

_Without another word, Cam swallows him to the root, his lips pressing against the metal ring circling his cock. His eyes roll back. His hands clench on the headboard. He bites his lip to keep his cries contained._

_Cam pinches his hip, and he hisses. "None of that," Cam mutters midway through slurping at his penis. "I haven’t seen you in God knows how long, so no, there is no way I'm letting you keep quiet." To prove his point, Cam circles his prostate until another frustrated moan bubbles out of his throat. But Cam's a good dom who beams and stops teasing once John's done as Cam asks and swallows him down again._

_"Oh, fuck...fuck that's good. Oh fuck, Cam. Fuck!"_

_"You kiss your grandma with that mouth, Shep."_

_He winces. "Do not talk about my grandma if you want me to come."_

_Cam grins down at his unflagging erection. "Somehow, I don't think that's gonna be a huge problem. You're still a long way off from relief."_

_John's eyes go wide. "What?"_

_"Like I said, long time, no see, not ending any time soon."_

_John grouses. "I hate waiting."_

_"I'll make it worth your while."_

_Cam licks down from the glans and mouths at his sac. Then, he starts humming and John lets loose a string of curses that would make a drill sergeant proud. He feels the tension ramping higher and higher, feels the knot of pleasure coiling over the base of his spine. He arches his hips up, heedless of the breathy noises he's making._

_His balls have started tightening. He freezes, pleading with whatever cosmic power will listen to let Cam not notice. But there's a sharp yanking pain as Cam cuts off his orgasm with a smile that sometimes reminds John of a sociopathic kitten batting at a frightened mouse._

_"Now, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you wanted something."_

_John lets his head fall back against the pillow and counts backward from ten. It's all he can do to keep his groans at bay. He knows two sure fire ways to get Cam to ease up his teasing. Option one: safeword. Option two: ...well... he's not good at option two. So, he shakes his head quietly._

_"You sure," Cam says, tracing his lube-slick fingers around John's hole. He can picture how he must look. Legs spread. Cock hard. Hole shiny and twitching for Cam to fill him up. It makes his cheeks flush and pre come eek from his head. "'Cause from what I'm seeing on this end, it looks like you want something."_

_John shakes his head again and swallows. That's the worst thing, he thinks. Strung out of endorphins and hormones, he could end this torment with one word. Could get relief one way or another. Either freedom or actual release. But he doesn't. He won't just ask. Not til Cam all but forces the words out of him._

_He's shivering under Cam's heated gaze._

_"I guess I could help you out," Cam drawls. "Even if you won't talk, I bet I've got ideas enough for both of us. Remember that time in Vegas after your first tour."_

_He does. Or rather, he doesn't remember most of what happened between that eighth shot of tequila and waking up in Cam's bed the next morning, but he remembers the monstrous dildo he found in the sink and the way he couldn't walk straight for days after._

_"I'd love to do that to you again. Open you up slow and steady. Milk you to the brink of orgasm and bring you back. Work in as many fingers and as much lube as possible. All the while, you'd be restraining yourself, trying not to hump back the way you really want to, trying to hide how much you want it. And then I'd pull out the piece, let you catch sight of its shadow on the wall before I start working it into you, inch by inch until you're so full you don't know whether to cry or beg for more. You know, when you let yourself go, you beg for it so prettily. I could get off on just watching you beg for cock."_

_John can picture it, Cam sitting off to the side while John kneels in a bar, using every trick he knows to attract a stranger's eyes. His cock jerks and he whimpers before he can stop himself. "Please, sir."_

_Cam's hand stills over his ass. He grips John's hip firmly. In that moment, his demeanor shifts. Away from mate-mode, into master-mode. "Again, John?"_

_"Sir, please, I'll do anything. Just make me come."_

_Before he can blink, Cam has him turned over onto his front, ass up, shoulders down, one hand pulling down his fly, the other pinning John by the back of his neck. "Make it good," he says as he pushes in._

John's hand works fast on his penis. His mind dissolves into a flurry of disjointed images, all the things Cam ever did to him, all the things he wanted but never asked for. He comes with a grunt and then collapses forward. His whole body shakes and aches. He can't tell which is worse: the heartache or the soreness of his body rebelling against him. John curls into a ball and sobs into his knees.

 

Hours later, once the sub-drop has passed and he's put himself into a semi-respectable state, John makes his way through the control room and toward Carter's office. Through the window, he sees the colonel talking with a woman. She's petite, with narrow hips, a heart-shaped face and a mop of black curls. No collar, no cuffs. Even before he steps into the doorway, he can tell the woman's a practiced domme. She holds herself with as much power and prowess as Carter, but when her dark eyes meet his, John feels her looking through him in a way that unsettles his stomach.

 

"John," Carter says, standing to greet her fellow officer. "Feeling better?"

 

He nods. The new woman doesn't stand, doesn't take her eyes off him. It's an obvious trick to assert her dominance. Unfortunately, John's not in the mood for mind games, for holding his own. He just wants to get this done with so he can get back to work. "Olivia," Carter says, turning to the woman, "this is Lt. Col. John Sheppard. John, Dr. Olivia Powell, Atlantis's new psychologist."

 

John extends his hand. Dr. Powell's hand is cold and her grip smooth and unyielding. "Welcome to the team, doc," John says with a slight smile.

 

"Thank you," she replies sharply. "I look forward to the challenge."

 

The way her eyes linger on his collar makes him want to squirm. He digs his nails into his palms to fight that instinct. He looks to Carter, and swallows. "Colonel, may I...have a word in private?"

 

Carter says a quick goodbye to Dr. Powell. The doctor flicks her bushy curls over her shoulder as she passes, and John breathes easier with just one domme in the room. Carter seems to notice when she gestures for John to sit. "Is everything alright, John? You've been acting oddly."

 

"My team are prone to worrying," he says, still standing because he hasn't quite psyched himself up for what he's here to do.

 

"They aren't the only ones. Lorne, Zalenka and Keller have also expressed their concern for your wellbeing. Especially after M3X-387."

 

John winces a little at the memory of his crystalline, nightmare doppleganger. He shakes off the memory, and takes a deep breathe. If he doesn't do this now, he won't.

 

Without a word, John slides to his knees, keeping his eyes on the floor. His knees don't have much strength of stability left in them, and if he weren't balling his hands into fists, they'd be trembling.

 

"John?" Carter whispers after a moment of uncertain silence.

 

He swallows. "I submit myself for the..." Jesus, he can't even say the words.

 

"John, what's going on?"

 

He squeezes his eyes shut. He has to do this. He has to say the damn words. Even if it kills him.

 

"…For the removal of my collar. My mate is..." he hesitates. "...was..." He looks up at Carter's puzzled expression, but he can only make out the broad strokes of her face: the details are all blurry. "Don't make me say it."

 

It takes a moment, but then Carter asks, "Mitchell?"

 

A sound resonates at the back of his throat. He doesn't even have to nod.

 

Before he can speak, Carter crosses the room and lays her hand at the back of his neck. He shivers and forces breathe through his nose. He will get through this without breaking down like a teenager.

 

"I'm so sorry," Carter says. "I didn't...none of us knew."

 

He nods. A distant, detached part of him understands. If the situation were reversed, no one on his team would've known to tell Cam. That was just the way they'd been.

 

Carter crouches down to his eye level, but she doesn't make him look at her. He's more than a little thankful for that small mercy. "John, you don't have to do this. There's no regulations on returning a collar once the dom has---"

 

"If I don't do this now, I won't. And Cam would---" He cuts himself off before he loses it. "Colonel, just take the damn thing off."

 

Without another word of protest, Carter soothes her fingers along the back of the collar, undoing the heavy buckle, and slipping the worn leather off his throat. For a moment, John worries that his head might fall off. He's been collared so long, he doesn't really remember what it's like to be without it for any length of time. Carter presses the collar into his hands, and John holds it to his chest.

 

Distantly, he tries to focus on that novelty, not on how he can't really see, can't hear much outside of his quivering heart, can't feel more than the cold air biting his neck. He's aware of Carter calling someone on her radio, of footsteps in the hallway, of worn hands on his shoulders, of a woodsy smell, of a calm voice. Lorne. "Colonel, I need you to give me your wrist."

 

John holds out his left wrist meekly. The right one takes more fight for him to offer, but it's also the one holding Cam's collar. He breathes raggedly, waiting for the last command, the one he's dreading.

 

"Sheppard, I have to take it," Lorne says, softer than John's ever heard, and close enough for John to feel his warmth. John knows, but knowing doesn't make it any easier.

 

He closes his eyes and breathes in the last piece of Cameron Mitchell, and he lets Lorne take away the collar.

**Author's Note:**

> Any question, comments, or suggestions are welcome!


End file.
